DANNY

"So...you want to pay me to...date women? For your app?"

Eden's angelic face winces slightly from the opposite side of a rickety wooden table at this quiet coffee bar. A half-second later she seems to catch herself and reins in her expression back to focused. "Um, not necessarily. See, when people sign up for the app, there will be options—tiers, actually. So, someone signing up could be looking for 'Dates'—like an actual real date—or 'Dream Dates'—a professional date where you accompany clients to work functions or weddings or other important events—or they can select 'Both.' Clients pay depending on what tier they want. And each of the Dream Guys will have featured profiles with a photo and a brief bio of their professional credentials, areas of interest, and hobbies so clients can choose who they want to message for a 'Date' or 'Dream Date' or 'Both.'"

"So...you want me to be an escort?"

Her perfectly arched eyebrows crash together. "No!" She covers her mouth with her hand. "I mean, no," she whispers.

I'd laugh at her adorable effort to be quiet if I weren't so shocked, struggling to make sense of this moment. Well, then. This isn't how I expected I'd be spending my morning, being propositioned for the weirdest job imaginable by my childhood best friend's little sister the day after I randomly run into her.

But that's exactly what's happening.

I shouldn't be all that surprised though. There are a lot of things going on in my life currently that I didn't think would be happening. I didn't think I'd walk in on my ex-fiancée in bed with her business partner on our anniversary. I didn't think I'd be in debt, working multiple jobs to dig myself out of the financial hole our broken engagement left me in. I didn't think I'd be twenty-eight and living in the apartment above my parents' garage.

So really, I should have seen Eden's proposition coming. Lately my world has been as messy and unpredictable as a tornado.

She holds up a hand. "Not that I think there's anything wrong with being an escort. There's absolutely not, as long as everyone involved are willing participants. It's just that society has given that profession a negative connotation and I don't want to perpetuate..."

She presses her eyes shut and shakes her head, waving her hand. "Never mind that."

I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. I didn't recognize Eden when I first saw her last night. That nose ring, that arm tattoo, the long, wavy style of her hair. It's all a far cry from the mousy, glasses-wearing teen with hair as wavy as it was wild that I grew up with. But this is the Eden I remember well from when we were kids. The expressive face, gesturing animatedly as she speaks, messy in the most endearing way. Like a kitten that falls into its own water bowl. Yeah, it's a disaster, but an adorable disaster.

She tucks a chunk of her long black hair behind her ear. The movement is like hypnosis. Suddenly I can't look away from those dainty hands of hers, the dark blue hue of her nail polish, her tan skin...

An image of Eden from last night flashes behind my eyelids when I blink. That loose t-shirt that hung off her shoulders just the right amount, her long hair cascading down her back, the most stunning pair of deep brown eyes I've ever—

I clear my throat and nod, pretending I know exactly what Eden just said. I shouldn't be thinking about Eden Shaw in this way. She's my best friend's little sister, and our unofficial rule from years ago still stands: sisters are always, ALWAYS off limits.

"This app is totally appropriate and professional," Eden says, pulling me back to the moment. "Professional women seeking out professional men to either date or accompany to important social events. That's it."

I nod at her no-nonsense tone, spending the next several seconds quietly soaking in what she's said.

She slides her laptop over to me. "It's still in the design phase, of course, but this is how it would work."

She walks me through the pages on the screen. I'm blown away at just how much she's completed at this point. It looks like a fully functioning website. She really did all this in less than a day? She must have been up all night working on it.

I shouldn't be all that shocked though. Even though it's been years since I'd seen Eden, she's always been hyper-focused on the things that interested her, ever since she was a little kid. I think back to when we were young and I'd come over to her house to hang out with Cruz. Eden was always working hard on some project. When she was really little, I remember her spending hours building massive structures with her toys that were more detailed and intricate than I could ever build at that age. One time she built a castle with some blocks in their living room that stood as high as their tallest bookshelf. She even dragged a chair from the kitchen table and stood on it so she could reach that high since she was so tiny.

And how when she was ten, she was determined to save enough money to buy a guinea pig when her parents refused to get her one, so she'd do yard work for her neighbors in exchange for cash. And there was that one summer she got really into the Food Network and was obsessed with baking the perfect scone. I must have eaten a dozen scones every week that whole summer.

"Why are you smiling like that?" she asks.

"You were always like this."

"Like what?"

"So industrious. It's cute. And admirable."

She chuckles before sipping her drink. "That's a unique compliment. Can't say I've been called industrious, cute, and admirable all in one sentence before."

"It's true. Okay, this is gonna sound weird, but do you remember when you were in middle school and spent that one summer baking scones?"

Her face scrunches like she's embarrassed at the memory. "Oh my gosh, you seriously remember that?" She flashes a flustered smile, her cheeks painted in a rosy flush.

"How could I forget? You single-handedly fueled my baseball workouts that summer with all the baked goods I ate at your house. I could run circles around all of my teammates when our coach made us do sprinting drills because of all the consistent carb-loading I was doing."

Chuckling, she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "God, I totally forgot about that. My parents were so sick of seeing their kitchen covered in scones. And eating them."

"Their loss. I dream about your marionberry scones even now. Please tell me you still have the recipe." "Maybe I could dig it up." She chuckles before shaking her head, like she's in disbelief. "I can't believe you remember all that."

"Just saying that I'm impressed with what you've created. But I shouldn't be because you were always like this."

"Thanks," she says softly before going quiet for a few seconds. She looks at me like she's going to say something, but then she shakes her head slightly and focuses back at her computer.

"Sorry," I mumble. "I veered us a bit off track with that stroll down memory lane, didn't I?"

"No worries. It was fun to chat about it. I haven't thought about those moments in a long time." She glances off to the side, out the nearby window looking out onto the busy street, before turning back to me. "So, um, anyway, all of the users on the app will be vetted. They have to give their personal and payment information too. If someone likes your profile, you're alerted on your phone. You get to see their info and the details of the event they'd like to book you for and decide if you even want to accept the request for a date. If you don't want to, just hit 'reject.' That's it. Super simple."

"Who else have you got on deck for the app?"

"Well, um, you'd be the first guy. Sort of like a..."

"Guinea pig?" I can't help but smile when I say it.

"That's one way of putting it." She grins like she's relieved at what I've said. "But I'm planning to ask a couple of my guy friends to join the app too. It's just that you...well, you're the whole package. Good-looking, smart, funny, kind, charming, charismatic. You're the perfect guy to lead this app."

Now I'm the one blushing. I've felt like utter crap lately, given the fact that my career has zero earning potential, I'm living with my parents, and have no money to my name. Plus, I'm still reeling from my humiliating breakup. So yeah, as ridiculous as it may be, it feels pretty damn amazing to hear Eden call me handsome and funny and all those other nice things.

She scoots her chair closer to the table, like she's excited to tell me more. "The app's called 'Dream Guy.'"

She bites her lip, like she's waiting to see if I approve.

"Interesting."

She starts to wince again. "Good-interesting? Or bad-interesting?"

"Good interesting." I cup my hands around the mug of coffee I've barely sipped over the past fifteen minutes. "I could definitely use the money this could bring in."

Eden flashes a smile that's somehow bright and sympathetic at once. "Remember my crappy apartment? Obviously, I could too."

"Your parents can't help you?"

Her smile fades the same seconds that her shoulders jump up the slightest bit. Shit. I hit a nerve.

"I don't really want their help anymore," she says before glancing out the window next to our table, a faraway look in her gaze.

I nod like I understand, even though I don't. Eden and Cruz's parents were always nice and polite to me growing up, so I'm curious as to why Eden seems so cagey in this moment. But then I think back to how they refused to buy her a guinea pig when she was a kid. Are they weirdly stingy with money or something? It sounds like Eden's working hard—said she's going to school full-time and mentioned she was bartending too. Wouldn't they want to help her if they have the means to do it? And wouldn't Eden want their help too?

I immediately stamp out the thought. It's none of my business. This is clearly a touchy subject for her and I have no right to pry. All I should be focusing on right now is the golden opportunity Eden just dropped in my lap.

"I'm in."

Her saucer eyes widen before that sunshine smile tugs at her lips. "Really?"

"Really. I'm your dream guy, Eden."

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